A Last Barricade
by LadyPorpoise
Summary: Early in recovery, Maedhros has an episode that drives him to retreating deep into his mind, almost surrendering his life completely. Fingon and Maglor will not have it, but only Fingon can step inside, as Maedhros feels betrayed by Maglor for abandoning him. A mind given tangible things is a strange world to step into, but Fingon must drag Maedhros out of it for him to survive.


_A/N I have thought of what to do when dealing with things to make a mind more tangible, or vision/dreams for other things. I also wanted to have Fingon give something really significant that can only really be "seen" in this kind of setting. I was planning on having it more epic but...then I hit writer's block and being rusty and all, I probably lost where I was going with this because I don't really write things down._

_I love best friendships. Hope you enjoy._

_Not slash._

_(Extra note: College. Kind of fun but sometimes not fun but is fun actually. Feels really good being a semi-adult and interacting with people face-to-face again.)_

* * *

It was horrifyingly easy to get in here.

Fingon stood on a worn stone path, a misty, foggy forest behind him. The hazy atmosphere spread beyond and into the sky. It was not often he used ósanwë with other people beyond his wife. Since the darkening, Fingon closed himself off from everyone, his father included. But here he was entering Maedhros' head with no consent.

The tortured elf had no fight left to give to resist that kind of intrusion.

In the real world, Fingon and Maglor were doing the normal routine with Maedhros timidly watching. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. In fact, Fingon could not pinpoint _what_ it was that set Maedhros off. It happened too fast. Maedhros became terrified of _something_, and strength none of them knew he had or expected filled his body. It got violent, and no matter what calming presence and soothing words the king and elder son of Fingolfin had, Maedhros refused to be calmed.

It did not help the fact that Maedhros could not speak or understand Quenya anymore.

The fever spiked, and Maedhros fell into a self-induced coma. He was afraid of the people he should not be frightened of. Maglor and Fingon panicked, terrified that what little progress they made was irretrievably lost, that Maedhros would surrender his life to Mandos. The specifics of the conversation were lost to Fingon, given the desperation of the situation…but it was on the lines of Maglor yelling at him to bring his brother back, given Maedhros shut Maglor out from a vague sense of being betrayed. Rightfully placed…but Fingon wished it was not the case.

And that was how Fingon came to this place: the shattered remains of Maedhros' mental defenses, to try and salvage what they could.

Fingon blinked a few times, stunned, as he beheld the demolished fortress that was the strong elf Maedhros used to be. Fire and smoke ascended into the grey sky, and Fingon thought he heard the ominous sounds of haunting ghosts. Standing outside of the ruin, he should not be able to hear them, though standing inside someone's mind, _anything_ was possible.

It shook Fingon to the core seeing how close the enemy was to breaking his friend. More guilt brimmed to the surface when he began to wonder if he was partial in this destruction in recent times.

Fingon quietly set up his own defenses, which manifested as a cloak in this dreamworld. Maedhros could throw all the horrors at the intruder if he so wished. Fingon doubted he could do a lot of damage in the current state he was in, but the extent of the horrors Maedhros did go through would compensate for that. After a moment of bracing for what could come, Fingon made slow steps toward the bridge that crossed over a never-ending abyss.

There…sitting on a pile of boxes behind a petty barricade, was a beaten, warrior-Maedhros. He looked a bit like what Fingon saw at their last meeting, before the burning of the ships, only bloodied and on the brink of surrender. Maedhros must be in some form of denial to not adopt what he looked like now, given his right hand was back. Fingon felt a bit of admiration amidst his sorrow. Admiring and wondering _how_ Maedhros had not completely broken from the torture, yet angry and depressed knowing that Maedhros had been abused and beaten to his wit's end.

Maedhros did not seem to see the intruder, the deadness in his eyes and face very prominent. Fingon stopped a few feet before the barricade. The elf stared at how pathetic it was, and how _easy_ it would be to just push it over…and send Maedhros' hope of ever coming back from this into the abyss below.

A few loose stones at Fingon's toe finally roused Maedhros from this stupor. He moved on the boxes and lifted a sword, hissing. "Do not come any closer."

The threat had no weight to it. The illusion may have sounded strong, but Fingon heard right through the echo. Heard the begging and pleading behind it.

Fingon raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I will not go any further than you will allow me to."

Suspicion, distrust remained on the elder son of Fëanor's face. His hand kept the sword aloft, pointing it at Fingon's chest. Though they were a distance apart, it was disturbingly reminiscent of what both their fathers experienced before the door of the house of Finwë in Tirion.

"Of course, you would say that," Maedhros said with a sneer. "All of you would. Try and get me to lower my guard one last time and get what you want. I will have none of it! None of it!"

The statement ended in a half scream, and Fingon almost wanted to yelp when images-memories-came leaping at them both. Disfigured elves seeking to devour them, orcs with their foul weapons, and what was worse were things that Fingon had never seen before but were for sure abominations made in Angband. Fingon hid in the cloak, barely daring to look up. Maedhros dispersed the memories with his sword, quickly breaking the façade he set up, and the state of his spirit revealed itself truly: dim, desolate, and broken. It flickered back to the soldier that was Maedhros, yet even then he seemed to waver and shake.

Fingon slowly stood up again, and by the time he was upright Maedhros had regained what little ground he had by pointing the weapon at the intruder once more.

"I know you have very little reason to trust me," Fingon started softly, not moving forward nor retreating. "Why would you after everything that has happened? The lies and distortions you must have been fed over the years. Do you even know who I am?"

"A lie," Maedhros answered. "Everything is a lie. A lie covers a lie that truth may as well not exist. It is buried too deep!"

"For an exhausted and hopeless mind, the dig is too great." Fingon agreed reluctantly. "But you have not had to find that treasure by yourself in recent times. Do you-"

"_He_ abandoned me," Maedhros' voice rose to the verge of hysteria, tears in his eyes. "They all abandoned me! The-the monster, the-he would exploit that _yearning-_"

Fingon barely understood the incoherent babbling Maedhros descended into. The red-head wavered again and almost lost his footing, and Fingon felt chills go up his spine, hearing another voice-another memory hopefully instead of another presence-sickeningly sweet, and the faint sight of fire and orange swirling and hovering around Maedhros.

Behind Maedhros, into the fortress, Fingon _did_ discern the power of Maglor working from playing his music. A brief sense of awe went through Fingon seeing Maglor being Ôlnathron, the dream weaver, for himself. Alas, such sweet music and trying to bring back beautiful and innocent memories were not working for where they were now.

'Keep trying,' Fingon thought to Maglor, though it would not be received.

"Away from here!" Maedhros swung at the orange cloud and hit the lone barricade.

Fingon did not stay put seeing that, dreading that it would fall into the abyss or crumble into pieces, and rushed forward.

The orange cloud dissipated, but Maedhros stared in horror seeing the barricade move by his own fault. It was akin to the most precious yet delicate creation made of porcelain. Seeing Fingon step forward only made it worse. "You are working with him!" he screamed in accusation.

"Know it is Findëkáno, Maitimo!" Fingon decided that being passive would not work anymore. Maedhros needed to get out of this state of mind somehow, and trying to get him to reason himself would bear no fruit. "Who sang to you below that forsaken cliffside? Surely that must stick out in your mind after that long hearing nothing but the wind!"

"Stay back!"

"How can we be of evil when you flew on the back of an eagle back to Hisilomë, having beheld Manwë's messengers and his Maiar before? Who plays fair songs even now to bring back memories of times long past, instead of twisting them up?"

"They are twisted!" Maedhros sent out an image of a wolf.

Fingon skidded and raised his arm before the thing could bite him down, but even that made him freeze, trying to register what just went past him. Agony and screaming, an unnatural feeling. He regained his composure quickly, moving around the barricade. Maedhros was more frantic seeing his only defense being rudely avoided and bypassed. "No, your brother is _not_ twisting what buried memories you have left. If anything, he is untwisting them as best he can from the taint Morgoth's goons force into your soul."

"LEAVE!" Maedhros arose like fire and descended onto Fingon.

That did scare Fingon, and he thought he would be spiritually deaf with the shrieking that never seemed to end. So much agony was being unloaded, as a last resort to drive him out from distressing Maedhros. Fingon never had experienced this before and hoped to never go through this again, yet if he left now: Fingon guessed Maedhros would descend into more despair being left alone with his demons.

Fingon and Maedhros wrestled, the child of wisdom trying to still a child of fire and flame. Chilled by the Helcaraxë and burned by dark fire, both from Morgoth…each suffered in some way by their common enemy.

As previously predicted, Maedhros was not strong enough to keep up an onslaught, despite his potentially unwanted help from disturbing memories. Fingon pushed his opponent away, and Maedhros stayed down, exhausted. Fingon repelled what phantoms remained attacking him, shaking and overwhelmed by experiencing things he himself had not gone through personally. It broke through his own illusion, revealing the blue frostbites and missing fingers that would be a permanent mark from the Grinding Ice.

Fingon sought quickly for Maglor's reassuring chords, and he found them. They were stronger than before. Making no delay, Fingon arose and pulled Maedhros up. "You have been on the ground far too long, my friend. Stand up."

Maedhros barely resisted, and his strong image again flickered to something weaker and pathetic.

"See what comes from the outside, that is not from the forest of your dread and doubts." Fingon directed, turning his cousin to face the ruined fortress. Above the grey clouds, like rain, music that seemed tangible entered the streets. Visible melodies drove the bad things away, dancing cords giving the sound of happy, good laughter, instead of taunting and evil.

Maedhros did watch, but he doubted still and shook his head. "I can't anymore, I can't…"

"Yes, you can," Fingon said seriously. "See that right now good exists that is trying to rid the evil, and not evil coming in to get rid of what sweet things still remain."

Maedhros sagged.

Fingon turned Maedhros to face him, still forcing the taller elf to remain standing. "Treasures have been stolen from you, and you have been forced to retrieve them by yourself. Well, no longer. You are far too close to finding the truth again, getting back what was most precious to you. Let us help you get that back. Let us worry and carry the burdens. You do not have to fight anymore."

The deadness in Maedhros' eyes was back, vacantly watching. Fingon feared that his words just went over his cousin's head.

With a frown, Fingon stepped back and held both hands before him, cupped together. Gradually, a ball of light came out from his heart. Fingon held it out before him. "If nothing else will convince you, then let my strength give you enough to live through this and recall our ancient friendship."

Something did arouse Maedhros with the sliver of fëa. It possessed the Fingonness that only Fingon could have, and not some imposter. Fingon pushed the light toward Maedhros, and it floated into the redhead's receiving hand. It dissipated as that will to endure infused into Maedhros' own soul.

He did not appear much healthier, but some light returned to his eyes. He let out a soft sigh.

Fingon knew he had rooted Maedhros back. The place began to fade when he started to will himself back out of Maedhros' mind. Not without grasping Maedhros' forearm, and much to his joy, the gesture was returned.

"Findë," Maedhros muttered wearily with recognition. Trust. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," Fingon reassured gently. "You are not in this alone anymore."

* * *

Fingon awoke realizing he was entirely on the floor. Maglor's harp was clearly discernible, but there was someone else there too.

"Findë, Findë come on," a woman's voice spoke worriedly. "I know you are back, return to me."

Fingon felt the familiar bond he had with his wife, Síwen. She returned the energy that he had given to Maedhros from her own soul.

Fingon slowly sat up and hugged his wife, disoriented and mentally scarred. "Síwen." He looked to the side toward the fur bed Maedhros was, and he tried getting up to see.

"We are alright," Maglor whispered, reeling from the desperation of the situation and processing what happened and that he could have lost Maedhros anyway.

Fingon sighed and sat down again, clumsily, staring at his cousin while Maedhros remained unconscious. Fingon mulled over what he had seen inside Maedhros' mind, a myriad of emotions going through him. This was still early in the journey for bringing back the person they loved, but all was not lost yet.

"We will be alright," Fingon affirmed.


End file.
